Memento
by Ellyrianna
Summary: A collection of eighteen memories for Gojyo and Hakkai. The Gruesome Twosome and the snapshots of their lives.
1. Thank You Kindly

**28. Black Rose; Death**

**(Thank You Kindly)**

**Word Count: 1374**

Hakkai and Sanzo always get depressed on rainy days. Their journey is endless, but it's even more forestalled when it's raining. This, of course, pisses Gojyo off to no end, and he can only sit in the inn or the tent or the jeep and watch the two of them brood, going through pack after pack of cigarettes. It's an easy way to deplete his stock of Hi-Lites, and provides an excuse for him to take Goku with him and escape their insufferable melancholy, and he always makes sure to tell them that they're being pains in the asses (and add that Sanzo is never not one).

It's all true -- his disdain is real, his unease, his urge to fidget whenever these kinds of days roll around. Still, he can't deny that he doesn't understand where Hakkai's coming from. It's not easy to forget the day that you meet the person you're going to be tied to for the rest of your life; it's not hard to remember the expression in his eyes, the way they're begging you to just end it.

But you're too annoying to do that.

Gojyo clearly remembers standing over him, completely caught up in those soulless eyes, transfixed. He recalls the rain soaking into his clothes, into his skin, into his bones, just staring at the dying man blocking his way home. It would be simple to walk around him, to keep going; simple to keep living the life he'd always lived, surviving by the skin of his teeth, making his way with card games and bets. That would be so easy, and, just for a second, like the flicker of a candle's flame, he considers it.

It's dismissed as he leans down in the mud, his eyes never disconnecting with those piercing green ones, and his large hands go to the sopping wet clothing of the dying man, soaked equally with blood as it is with rain. The red stain on the road starts to seep into Gojyo's jeans, and soon he's wearing the other man's crime just as assuredly as the criminal is. The flesh beneath the torn clothes is solid, hard, and briefly he thinks of how easily the man could die, and that all of that hard, living flesh could be nothing but the remnants of a person.

Forcefully, Gojyo pushes him onto his back and is in turn greeted with the non-so-pleasant sight of all sorts of indefinable guts spilling out of that ugly, garish slash on the man's stomach. He looks at it just long enough to gather them all in his hand, and then, wrenching his gaze to the man's face, he shoves all of those tools and wires that keep a body going back into it. He fully expects to see pain on the man's face, and instead sees nothing. He isn't registering anything.

Unresponsive.

Uncaring.

Gojyo can read his thoughts:

_Kill me, please, and thank you kindly._

"No thanks," Gojyo mutters, and, pulling his hand out of the man's stomach, wipes the excess of blood and gore that had accumulated on it against the wet denim of his jeans before reaching forward, grabbing the man's arm, and yanking him to his feet. Blood gushes and spills down his front, and Gojyo puts a protective hand over the wound he'd tried to at least stabilize before starting what he knew would be a slow tread. The man is leaning entirely on him, his head forward, chin on his chest. His eyes are closed now. "Don't die," he says, somewhat angrily, and feels that it is out of his character to act so compassionate for this complete stranger. "I don't wanna have put my hand in someone's guts and then have them die on me, alright?"

The man doesn't respond. Gojyo doesn't expect him to.

---

After the doctor has come and gone and Gojyo has taken a cigarette outside in the rain (because, although anarchy has been one of his chief traits, he can't bring himself to disobey the small little man's orders), he goes back inside and sits down on the bed beside the man. He is pale, his forehead is covered with a strip of bandage, and something's up with that right eye of his. The ugly wound, now meticulously sewn up and bandaged, is hidden under a shirt and blankets, but Gojyo can still see it.

The man looks like he's dead, and the only thing that differentiates him from a corpse is the way his lips twitch when he breathes -- through his mouth, which suggested to Gojyo that he was suffering a cold or allergies of some kind. His breathing is shallow enough that even the rise and fall of his shoulders aren't visible under the heavy blankets and thick, oversized shirt. Gojyo realizes, in a very clichéd fashion, that the man would not have had to wait much longer for death if Gojyo hadn't come along and decided to save him.

He has never had a chance to realize it before, since it has never happened before, but Gojyo thinks that there is something strangely endearing about having a man in his bed. Or maybe it's that it is this particular man, and that another would just look like a member of the opposite sex under his sheets, not a _man in his bed_, as strange is it seems to him.

This man has long hair, but it's not nearly as long as his, and not a disgusting color, either. Roughly, Gojyo brushes back the fall of bangs that hides most of the right side of that pale face, but it slips back into place shortly after. It was a useless action, but it doesn't piss Gojyo off like it should have.

He stands up, goes around to the low headboard, and, leaning over the man's now upside-down face, plants his hands on either side of the pillow. His long red bangs nearly touch the white bandages wrapped neatly around the white forehead. Red on white, like the man's shirt, now stuffed in a box in his kitchen designated for trash. His shirts are too big for this lithe man; they were made to fit around Gojyo's corded, muscled upper arms, not cover the skinny sticks this man has the gall to call arms. Gojyo likes the thought of wearing the shirt he'd given the doctor when asked; likes the thought of filling it out, of walking in front of this man and showing him how you really are supposed to wear it.

It's a silly, stupid idea, one that Gojyo himself barely understands he is entertaining. He'd never thought so deeply about a woman when she was lying in his bed, clinging to him while high on the afterglow, or sprawled on his sheets like a spilled drink. He finds it unnerving.

He stands upright and heads to the kitchen. After a night like this one, he needs alcohol.

--

Gojyo sits, this time, in the room he's sharing with his three traveling companions. He watches Sanzo brood by the window, staring out into the rainy twilight; watches Goku inhale the last of their food on his bed; and then, for a long time, watches Hakkai, who is not chiding Goku or attempting to cheer up Sanzo, but lying down despondently on the bed, listening intently to the rain drumming on the roof but not watching it like Sanzo is. It is one of the brief moments that he is completely absorbed in himself.

This unnerves Gojyo, and, in a way that is very much like himself, he goes over to interrupt Hakkai's would-be pity party. He sits down on the side of the bed, mechanically cracks a joke on Sanzo (who ignores him), and waits for Hakkai to snap out of it, to think about Gojyo again, to realize that his life is not his to live alone, but one to be shared.

He laughs, accepting the joke with practiced good humor. Gojyo grins rakishly and delves into any topic that he can think of to keep Hakkai talking, to show him that he is not dead, but, in fact, very much alive.


	2. All the Small Things

**24. Rosemary; Remembrance**

**(All the Small Things)**

**Word Count: 889**

_Note: Takes place before the Journey West, when Gojyo and Hakkai are sharing Gojyo's house after their run-in at the market. Canon-wise, you could put it in Reload: Gunlock._

"Don't think of me that way," Hakkai said just before Gojyo went for the bedroom door. The half-demon turned and rolled his eyes. Hakkai was the introspective type, liked to think on things and analyze them far after Gojyo had forgotten about them. Sometimes this created great controversy between the two of them, but most times Gojyo just laughed it off while Hakkai continued to dwell on it. They let each other alone, which was fine by the both of them, but at the moment the red head was just too tired to banter with his friend and had decided early on to concede to anything Hakkai might bring up.

"What are you going on about now?" he asked, exasperated but willing to hear him out if he made it fast. He was tired, dammit -- too tired even for a cigarette or a drink before bed.

"Without my limiters. The way I become -- I wouldn't want you to look back after all of this think about how I am." Hakkai sank down into one of the rickety chairs by the bottle-strewn table and put his head in his hands. Gojyo groaned audibly; this was going to be a long discussion. Hoping to shorten it, he slouched against the doorframe, clearly showing his live-in guest that he was not getting comfortable and to finish up fast.

"Yeah, and your point is?" He gestured with one hand to try and speed it along, although Hakkai couldn't see this. He was methodically rubbing his temples, as if warding off an oncoming migraine.

"My point?" Hakkai asked, turning around and looking sharply at Gojyo. "My point is that ten years from now you're going to tell some girls in a bar about how you had this friend who could turn into a vengeful, bloodthirsty demon. My point is that you're never going to look at me the same, because now you'll see that monster inside of me."

Gojyo rolled his eyes and stalked across the room to the table, where he rummaged for a minute before a pack of cigarettes and a lighter surfaced. He lit up and, after taking a drag, pointed a finger at Hakkai. "You, my friend, are being way too melodramatic. Cut the soap opera crap and give it to me straight. What's really buggin' you?"

Hakkai blinked. Gojyo poured them both shots in paper cups of a random bottle of unfinished alcohol, handed one to the brunette and tossed back his own.

"That's it," Hakkai said blankly.

"Really?" The red head took another drag on the cigarette, cleared some space on the tabletop, and sat down. "That's all?"

"Yeah. What did you --?"

"Hakkai, do you really think I give a shit about any of that? You really think that's who I am? All this time living with me and you _still _don't get that stuff? Man, I wonder if you've been sleep walking all this time or something, 'cause you obviously don't know me." Gojyo shook his head, as if marveling at the sadness of it all, and, forgoing the cup, grabbed the entire bottle and tipped some down his throat.

Hakkai was meticulously pinching the rim of his cup into little triangles -- just something to keep his hands occupied, it appeared. "I didn't mean to seem like I'm fishing for pity," he said hesitantly, as if afraid to continue with that train of thought.

"Stop it," Gojyo said, and pointed the empty bottle in Hakkai's face. Obediently, the brunette stopped talking. "Now, drink that." Hakkai picked up the cup and swallowed the liquor, his eyes still on Gojyo's face. "Stand up." He did so.

The redhead hopped off of the table and stood directly in front of him, placed his large hands on Hakkai's narrow shoulders, and brought their faces so close that their noses nearly touched. With such close proximity, there was no glare from Hakkai's glasses, and Gojyo could look directly into green eyes that he wouldn't hesitate to admit were gorgeous. That shade of green, he felt, would be beautiful on anything.

"I don't care what you did before you came here, or what you do when I'm not around -- hell, I don't care what you do when I _am _around. I don't care what you were then or who you are now. You're a demon? Who the hell cares? Definitely not me. When I tell people 'bout you, Hakkai, it's gonna be about how you nagged me to clean up and how you got up early in the morning to make breakfast, and how when I come home late and go to your room to see if you're asleep, you pretend you are and I still can tell that you're not. It's gonna be about Hakkai, not about something that doesn't matter. Got that?" Gojyo stared at him hard, levelly, demanding an affirmative.

"Yes," Hakkai said, and his smile, vanished for an instant, returned, very small.

"Good," the half-demon said, took his hands off Hakkai's shoulders, and went for his bedroom door. Before he went in, he turned around and added, "And will you actually _sleep _tonight? 'Cause I swear you haven't in a week."

"I'll try," the brunette promised, laughing. "Good night."

"'Night," Gojyo replied.

He could only hope that Hakkai would return the favor.


	3. Afterglow

**2. Rings**

**(Afterglow)**

**Word Count: 1261**

_Note: Post-Journey West. _

The phone in the kitchen rings once, twice, three, four times. After no one makes an effort to answer it, the ringing stops, and the thing is silent. It starts again after a few seconds, methodically repeats its previous actions, and stops again when once more it goes unanswered.

Sanzo growls into the receiver in the temple at Chang'an. He's supposed to be somewhere already -- somewhere alone, without Goku tagging along. He needs one of those two filthy things to come up and watch the ape for him for a few hours so that he can attend his meeting and then decompress with a drink and a few cigarettes; he hasn't been left alone in what felt like ages. He needs Hakkai to play nanny to the brat, or Gojyo to argue with him, or them both to come up and, while being affectionate with one another, keep an eye on Goku.

However, this is impossible if they refuse to answer their phone.

"Goddammit," Sanzo hisses, his fingers already starting to hit the appropriate numbers for the third time. Goku's bouncing around in the next room, eating all of the tangerines he'd bought that were supposed to last the entire week. The ringing is a low, monotone buzzing in his ear, with brief pauses in between the long strains. Impatiently, he taps his fingers on the tabletop. "Pick up, dammit, one of you, or the next time I see you I'm going to kill you."

After four rings, Sanzo slams down the receiver in the cradle and pounds his fist on the tabletop. Those two were in for such a beating when he saw them next.

Nonetheless, he is already dialing their number again, hoping against hope that they are both just taking a piss at the same time and will miraculously pick up the phone.

---

"I wish whoever that was would stop calling already," Gojyo mutters, shutting his eyes tightly. The sunlight coming in through the cracked blinds is burning through his eyelids, and he once again makes a mental note that he will soon forget to have them fixed. He is very hot, from both the sun coming through the window harsh and angry and Hakkai lying on top of him, a huge slab of dead weight.

"So go get the phone," Hakkai murmurs, his voice barely audible and muffled besides. His face is smushed against Gojyo's chest, and only half of the brunette's mouth is able to move and form words, let alone make them coherent.

"Well, I would, 'cept you're so heavy I can't even feel my legs," the redhead replies testily. Hakkai rolls his eyes and shuts them again.

"You think it's a pleasure when it's you lying on top of me? Think again," he says acidly, and shifts slightly to burrow his head into a more comfortable position on Gojyo's shoulder. Reflexively Gojyo puts an arm around him, and once more marvels at the sharp contrast between their skin tones -- him, tan, a bronze god; Hakkai, so pale and white, the clear image of a bookworm. It is something when they just were standing next to each other, fully clothed, and another entirely when there is nothing in the way.

"Why are you pissed? You seemed plenty happy a few minutes ago," Gojyo says, glancing down at the man curled up on his chest. He can't see Hakkai's face, but he really doesn't need to. They have been together for too many years for him not to know every expression the brunette has intimately; hell, Sanzo and Goku probably know, too, from all of that traveling with them.

"Not pissed. Just tired," Hakkai replies faintly. The phone stops ringing, pauses, and starts again. "Bet it's Sanzo. Only he's that stubborn."

"We'd better get it or he'll skin us next time we see him," Gojyo mutters. He nudges Hakkai. "C'mon, get up, I have to get the phone. Or you get off and get it."

"Mmmm."

Gojyo wishes he could smash his face into a wall, but, in his current position, is unable to do so. Hakkai falling asleep on him at any other time would have led him to fall asleep himself and therefore pleasantly wile away the afternoon dozing in a comfortable heat, but at the moment this was not a good thing. Desperately, he searches for some way to dislodge Hakkai from him, but sees no possible way to do so without missing the phone. After a few seconds of racking his brain for the answer, he finally just wraps his arms firmly about the brunette, sits up, and hefts him like a bride. It's not the first time he's carried Hakkai, and while he's sure that the other man is far lighter than him, he's still very heavy in his arms. Still, it's also not the first time that he's run while carrying Hakkai, and he manages to jog into the kitchen and grab the phone just before Sanzo wants to hang up.

He manages to wedge the phone between his ear and shoulder and hold Hakkai securely, although it's very uncomfortable.

"Yeah, what?" he asks, and knows his strained breathing is audible through the phone.

"Thanks for answering the phone so quickly, asshole," Sanzo says sarcastically into the line, and Gojyo can practically see his scowl.

"Hurry up, would you? I'm in an awkward position."

"I really don't want to know what sex position you're in right now, Gojyo --"

"It's _not _a sex position, assface --"

"-- But I need either one or both of you to get up here and baby-sit the monkey for me for a few hours. I don't care which one of you it is, or even if it's both -- just _get here fast_."

There is a click, and Gojyo curses as he lets the phone slide out from between his ear and shoulder and drop with a sickening crack onto the kitchen floor. He hefts Hakkai again and heads back to the bedroom, where he puts the brunette down on the bed, briefly flexes his strained arms, and starts grabbing clothes from the floor. He doesn't care about walking around his own house naked, but somehow he had an inkling that Sanzo will not be pleased if he shows up at Chang'an in his birthday suit.

Hakkai curls up in the warm patch on the bed where they had both been lying and where the sun was currently beating down. Gojyo pulls on his pants and a shirt, wrestles his long hair into a ponytail, and goes over to the bed.

"Hey," he says, laying a hand on Hakkai's shoulder. When the other doesn't respond, he says louder, "_Hey." _

"Mmm."

"I'm going to baby-sit for Sanzo. You okay here by yourself?" No answer. "_Hakkai_?"

"Mmm."

"Words. Something I can understand. _Will you be okay here by yourself?" _

"Aren't I always?" he snaps, clearly annoyed. Gojyo grins ruefully; he should no better than to mess with a sleepy Hakkai.

"Alright, just wanted to make sure. I'm taking Jeep." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the dragon in the other room, although Hakkai can't see; he's turned away from the redhead.

"Have fun," he mutters, and Gojyo gives him a mock salute before bending down and kissing his bare shoulder.

"Don't you worry. I'm sure it'll be something to remember."


	4. Fortune's Fools

**12. Is It You?**

**(Fortune's Fools)**

**Word Count: 843**

_Note: Tenses might be off. I'm still obsessing over present tense, and this was supposed to be in past._

_Such a lovely color._

Gojyo looked up, and stared at him, returning the good-natured smile he had started to yearn for towards the end of this guy's -- this Cho guy's -- stay with him. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and he found that he could most likely agree with that sentiment, looking at that smile right then.

"You're going to stay with me, right?"

"If you'd have me." Placid, calm, even. That was Cho for him -- even tempered, so...still, like a pond in the middle of a palace garden. He rolled with the punches in the way that Gojyo couldn't have, wouldn't ever be able to. Was that why he liked Cho? Because he saw everything in this man that he couldn't see in himself?

They say that's how you hate someone -- your own qualities reflected in them.

Here, that certainly wasn't the case.

Gojyo grinned roguishly, paid for the peppers, and grabbed the sack roughly when they had been packed for him by the startled merchant. "If you haven't gotten too used to living the finer life, then yeah, you can stay with me," he said, and started up the road, for his small house on the edge of the world. Cho followed him.

"The finer life? Where, in Chang'an, with Sanzo and Goku?" He scoffed. "Hardly." A pause, and they leave the town behind, start into the woods where Gojyo found him. The stain on the road is gone, washed away by seasons of rain and weeks of wind, but Gojyo can still remember the exact spot where he found Cho, this strange, laughing man who can smile with blood leaking down his face. Not one of the better memories with him, he realizes. "This is the finer life, I think."

Gojyo glanced up at him through chopped and cropped red bangs, red like blood, red like a harvest moon, the red that Cho wasn't afraid to explain to him, wasn't afraid to see. Was that why he liked him? This man with only a surname, not even a real name, who now wore a monocle and a prosthetic eye and a smile that he pretended covered up his past?

"Is that really you, or am I drunk? 'Cause last time I checked, my life was the shittiest possible kind," he replied after a minute, trying to sound like himself, like Gojyo, not like a man too caught up with his own ideas of love and like and hate and ignorance. Cho, he figured, embodied all of that, because he couldn't decide which suited him more.

Cho didn't reply, and they passed that spot without speaking of it, pass where there was red, so much red, but now just blends in with everything else. Gojyo thought that perhaps Cho blended in now, too, with respectably-cut hair, not so noticeable eyewear, and clothes that were neither bloodstained nor too big for him. Vaguely, Gojyo wondered that, if he hadn't been paying attention, if Cho hadn't seen him picking out those peppers, would they have just passed one another in a crowd, both of them now too bland to stand out? Short hair on Gojyo, nothing remarkable on Cho; would they have passed one another, just more faces in the crowd, stepping stones on the path of life?

Gojyo opened his unlocked door, motioned for Cho to go in first, and closes it after a second's hesitation as he thought it over. An entire afternoon passed where he brooded on it -- brooded and watched Cho methodically pick up the place, cleaning dishes, sweeping out accumulated dust, piling trash in one box and laundry in another and beer cans and cigarette butts in another, just the way it used to be, towards the end. Towards the end, when Cho could move again without hissing in pain he wanted to disguise; when they played cards long into the night and Gojyo watched him win hand after hand.

The night passed, too, and Gojyo still thought about it as they toasted one another and themselves and everyone else, as he himself went through a pack of cigarettes just talking to this fucked up man, and then a little more while Cho fixed up his old room and moved himself back in. Just like he'd never left.

No, he finally decided, stubbing out the last cigarette on a beer can and sniggering as he thought of the reaction Cho would give him when he found it in the morning. No, they would not have passed one another, because they were two screwed up people in a very normal town, and screwed up people always had a way of finding each other, no matter what the obstacle.

Gojyo crawled into his own bed and thought about how it would have sucked majorly if they _had _missed each other, because he really hadn't realized how much he'd missed Cho at all, and how complete he felt with him one room away, just like he'd never left.

The redhead hoped he'd never leave.


	5. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

**18. Tears**

**(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)**

**Word Count: 1,868**

_For Dani. _

If they had learned one thing from Sanzo, it was not to be emotional. It was to get up when you were knocked down, to flip off the person who did it, shoot them, and then keep walking. It was _muichimotsu, _hold nothing, and it was loving yourself and a select few other people. Sanzo tolerated weakness because he was human and because the youkai he traveled with had suspiciously human qualities, but tolerance did not automatically include indulgence.

And thus it went for three years.

--

When the journey was over, when everything they had set out to accomplish had been done, they returned home, feeling slightly empty, fairly bewildered. It was over. They had to go back to leading normal lives; or, at any rate, as normal as they had ever lead. Sanzo adapted easily, heading back to Chang'an with Goku in tow, and even Hakkai and Gojyo managed to not seem as detached as they really felt.

"You want to stay with me?" the redhead asked gruffly after some hard drinking at an inn.

"Alright," Hakkai replied pleasantly, unaffected. Gojyo had stopped him somewhere between seven and ten, concerned that the Real Hakkai would come out if the brunette pursued drinking himself into oblivion, but the kappa had kept going. After all, he didn't go into intense depression if he got wasted.

The two of them somehow made it back to Gojyo's little house, abandoned, not infested with bugs or animals or people -- exactly as they had left it. It was dusty inside, and the food they had thoughtlessly forgotten to toss out was either moldy, spoiled, or brown, but after a brief cleaning out by Hakkai, it looked much the same as it had before. Jeep settled onto a chair, Gojyo collapsed on his bed, and Hakkai followed shortly after, although he wound up sleeping in a chair across from the bed.

Gojyo questioned this when he woke up the next morning, his headache pounding but his expertise pushing it to the back of his mind.

"You were taking up the entire bed," Hakkai replied logically as he restocked and organized the kitchen. His early-morning shopping trips were still a habit from back in the days before Gojyo and Goku would be loaded up with the chores.

"Coulda pushed me over," Gojyo muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching at his stubbly chin with the other.

"Easier to wake the dead," his roommate cheerfully replied.

Hakkai had a permanently happy demeanor, but sometimes, on very rare occasions, Gojyo thought that he could see through it, like it was makeup or that Hakkai was losing his touch. For a few minutes, as he silently watched Hakkai organize the jars of sauces and condiments alphabetically, the redhead thought that he could see the Real Hakkai underneath.

--

Weeks passed this way, and Gojyo picked up his gambling again, sometimes dragging Hakkai along with him. The brunette's luck was astounding, and he won even more times than Gojyo did, eliciting some small amount of popularity with the local bar floozies. They were different, younger, but equally as air headed, equally as alike. They had different faces, but they were really just the same. The living they made off of the cards was fair -- well enough to support them, at least -- but Hakkai mentioned off-handedly one night that he would like to teach.

"That's what you did before, right?" Gojyo hazarded, not really recalling many details from 'before'. He climbed into the bed and swept the blanket aside for Hakkai, who slipped in neatly beside him.

"Yes," he said mildly, pulling the dark blue blanket up over the two of them. "I taught, and Kanan stayed at home..." He trailed off, his eyes looking blankly at the ceiling. Gojyo let it go for a few minutes, and then decided that Hakkai would want an answer, since obviously he was not going to drop it. Hakkai didn't ask for much -- he was an easy-going person -- but when he wanted something, he wanted it.

"There's a school in the next town over," Gojyo finally said.

"I'll go out in the morning and see if they're short-staffed."

Hakkai rolled over, his back to Gojyo, and curled up in preparation for sleep. The redhead ran a hand through his hair and sighed discontentedly.

--

Hakkai cooked for them every night except Friday, which was the night Gojyo completely dedicated himself to cards. He wouldn't come home until the early hours of the morning, and even though sometimes he suspected Hakkai to be still awake, most times he wasn't. He'd be in the spare room, or at the kitchen table, or at the small, cheap desk they'd set up by the front door. He didn't sleep in the bed when Gojyo wasn't there. More than once since he'd taken the teaching job Gojyo had had to drag him from the desk or the table to the bed, disturbing piles of paperwork and then earning his anger in the morning. On Fridays, Gojyo wound up with only a belly full of beer and nothing else, so on Saturday mornings Hakkai cooked extra for breakfast.

"Don't sleep at the desk," Gojyo said suddenly after he had spent several minutes staring at his plate rather than eating. His voice was gruff. Hakkai glanced up at him, then back down at the paper, and shoved another forkful of food in his mouth.

"I can't help it," he said smoothly, and instantly Gojyo knew he was lying. "I start to grade papers, and the minute I open my pen, I fall asleep. By the end of the week I'm just so tired." He shrugged and used his fork to scrape the rest of his food onto the edge of the plate for easier access.

"You can help it," the redhead countered loudly, and Hakkai stopped what he was doing, bringing his eyes from the paper to meet Gojyo's crimson ones. "I don't know why you do it, but for whatever kind of shit reason, you do it on purpose."

Calmly, Hakkai folded up the paper and then adjusted his glasses. "I don't understand what you mean." He stood up slowly and gathered his almost-empty plate and silverware before heading to the sink.

"You've changed, Hakkai," Gojyo said desperately, but the clinking of shifting china and metal was uninterrupted. "Ever since we've got back, you're not the same."

"You're still drunk." His voice was emotionless, and it gave away nothing. In a fit of rage, Gojyo seized his glass and threw it at the wall, where it exploded and sprayed juice everywhere. The water still ran in the sink, but Hakkai's hands had stopped.

"Fuck this," the hanyou muttered, scraping his chair angrily back and storming out of the door.

--

The fight persisted for some time, even after Gojyo had come back and made some semblance of apology that Hakkai accepted without so much as flinching. Instead of returning to the comfortable formality of love that they had assumed without indulging in romance, or romantic antics, though, they remained cordial, distant. Hakkai slept at the desk, or the table, or in the spare bedroom. Gojyo slept in the bedroom, in the bar, or not at all. He was angry with Hakkai, angry at how different the man had become, and angry at how their own relationship had changed.

It was raining when he came home early one Saturday morning a few weeks after their fight. It wasn't a torrent, or a storm -- just a light, warm summer rain that he actually enjoyed strolling through. He immediately thought of Hakkai, who must have bombarded himself as far away from the windows as possible, and Sanzo, who must have been smoking and brooding just then. He hadn't had that much to drink -- his winnings hadn't been very good -- and so he felt relatively clear-headed as he went into the house.

The kitchen table was empty, as was the desk (albeit still covered in graded and ungraded papers), and a peek in the spare bedroom also showed no signs of his roommate. Gojyo stood in the middle of the front room and wondered if Hakkai had finally left; he scratched his head for a moment, his emotions a victim of an internal blender. He pulled out a cigarette from his shirt pocket, and then remembered Hakkai's new policy -- no smoking indoors.

"I don't want to be a victim of secondhand smoke any longer," he had said with a smile.

Even without the other man there, Gojyo decided to obey the sentiment, and went out the door on the other end of the house that led into the backyard. It was small -- just a fat strip of grass before the forest took it over. The rain was still coming down, but he had taken pains to light the cigarette inside, and would have been content to smoke in the rain as well, if Hakkai hadn't been sitting on the grass outside.

"The hell are you doing here?" the redhead asked in surprise, reacting naturally to the shock of seeing him somewhere unexpected. Hakkai looked up at him; rain streaked his face, spattered his glasses, dampened his hair and clothes. Suddenly self-conscious, the youkai wiped his face with his hand, making sure to slip his fingers up under his glasses to wipe away the water there. Gojyo wondered how he got rain there when the glasses were protecting his eyes.

"Just sitting," Hakkai said, but his voice was hoarse.

"Just crying," Gojyo accused, the answer dawning on him.

There was a pregnant pause, and then, "Yes, maybe."

"Why?"

"It's a routine."

Gojyo glanced at him quickly, turned away, and took a drag on his cigarette. "What?"

"Every Friday, that's what happens. Even if I'm not feeling particularly upset anymore, it just happens anyway. I know it's not quite as good as a poker night, but sometimes the mind betrays the body. It happens to occur to me every time you leave for an extended period of time." Hakkai smiled, but it wasn't a happy one.

"Why?"

Hakkai cocked his head slightly, sorting through theories. "I think I've settled on PTSD. After everything happened, we really didn't get a chance to decompress, and I'm fairly certain that it's just been lying there, waiting. It's been changing me, I think. Things from the past -- like teaching, and cooking for Kanan and I, and just keeping house with you earlier. The memories think they're happening now, but in reality, they're just memories." He grinned widely at Gojyo. "Think I'm insane yet?"

Gojyo turned to him, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his foot, and then turned to Hakkai, to whom he offered a hand up. The youkai took it, and they silently went inside.

After they undressed, and toweled off, and got into bed together, Gojyo said, "After that trip, anyone would have gone insane. I'm surprised you lasted this long."

They laughed together before they slept, and Gojyo decided that they had all been crazy from the beginning.


	6. Procrastination

**9. Figuring**

**(Procrastination)**

**Word Count: 554**

_For Becky, who loves sex in strange places._

It was really hard for Hakkai to concentrate on his calculator when Gojyo was behind him, all but making out with his back. It wasn't exactly a habit to do the monthly finances immediately after coming out of the bath, but the books had been out, and they'd been putting it off for too long as it was; a convenience was more like it. It also wasn't a habit to do bookkeeping wearing only a towel, but again, things weren't exactly going according to ritual at the moment.

"Five over eight is --"

Gojyo kissed his jaw line, and then whispered in his ear, "It's eight over five, man. Concentrate harder." Hakkai ground his teeth, which only caused the redhead to snicker in triumph and continue abusing the area around his neck and shoulder. It was cold in the house -- snowing outside, actually -- but Hakkai couldn't feel it; Gojyo was too close for any cold to penetrate through.

"Alright, eight over five, eight divided by...five..."

Long fingers started tracing down his stomach, lower, to the towel around his waist and still clinging to his damp thighs and calves. Gojyo's hands ran over the towel, then traced up the side, finding the seam where it overlapped. He started to peel it away from Hakkai's skin, but the brunette angrily crossed his legs, pinning the material to them, and pushed one hand, frustrated, into his hair.

"Eight divided by five, which is 1.6, which is the sum total of our -- our --"

Having been denied access from the bottom half, Gojyo proceeded to attack from the waist, slipping two fingers under the material and trying to work out the tightness of it. Hakkai angrily scooted his stool back, ramming into his lover's knees, and then slid it back close to the table. "Fuck, that hurt," Gojyo said, rubbing his knee. Hakkai rolled his eyes and punched in a few numbers on the calculator.

"Twenty percent of which goes into groceries, fifty percent of which goes to the heating and water, leaving seventy left for other...expenses..."

Direct attempts thwarted, Gojyo had returned to kissing Hakkai's back, trailing up and down his spine. As if the cold weren't enough, the brunette was now shivering all over the place, and his unsteady hand was making his normally neat handwriting a scrawl over the ledgers. Sensing his advantage, Gojyo wrapped an arm around Hakkai's waist and leaned over his shoulder, where he started attacking his lover's left ear. He played with the limiters there, and Hakkai shuddered, unable to resist, leaning back against Gojyo.

"We need to get these bills paid," he said faintly, eyes closing as Gojyo's hand probed elsewhere than his waist.

"We're snowed in," the redhead replied, using his free hand to grab Hakkai's chin and angle it for easier access to his mouth. "We're just made of time."

And, because Gojyo was Gojyo, it didn't take much more convincing than that to get Hakkai to go along with him. Soon the books, spread out in an organized pattern on the table, were missing papers, jumbled, crowded together, because Gojyo was too impatient to bother dragging Hakkai into the bedroom. The brunette just took the spiral rings digging into his back as a constant reminder of the figuring that still needed doing.


	7. Itsumo

**23. Pink Carnation; I'll Never Forget You**

**(Itsumo) **

**Word Count: 1,387**

_Notes: This took a long, long time. _

"No, you don't want that one."

Kale glanced up from the pepper he was holding, looking around the cigarette in his mouth at the man standing beside him.

"Why not?" he asked, not exactly interested, but sensing that the stranger wanted to explain.

The man took the glaringly red pepper out of Kale's large hand and flicked it expertly. The skin caved a little, and a small dent formed in the side. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb and set the pepper back down in the tray.

"A ripe one would have made a solid sound, and the skin wouldn't have given in. You don't want that one." He tilted his head, passed his hand over the rest without really touching them, and then selected one at random. He held it up, flicked it, and the loud, reassuring _thck _that he got was enough to make the corners of Kale's lips curl.

"Very nice. You know your produce," he said, and took the pepper from the man's hand. Slipping it into the clear bag along with several other vegetables, he tied it up with a green twist and started for the cash registers.

--

Kale saw him again two days later, standing on the corner of two streets and rubbing his glasses on the hem of his sweater. His coat was open, and Kale shivered just looking at him. He had been meaning to go left, but he kept heading straight, having an hour and a half until he went on shift at the restaurant.

The light turned green before he got there, but he jogged a bit to catch up to the man and soon fell into step alongside him. The stranger turned, grinned at him, and shoved his hand into his pockets.

"If it isn't my pepper pupil," he said mildly.

"Bet you were waiting a lifetime to crack that one," Kale replied, shaking his head. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his down jacket and lit up, offered to the other man.

"Several, probably," he murmured, and then accepted one. "Maybe. Actually…yes. I'm supposed to have quit, though, so don't tell anyone." He took the cigarette and bent down to help himself to Kale's lighter. Righting himself, he took a drag, but let the smoke drift away gradually instead of the horse-like blowing method Kale used.

"It'll be our little secret," Kale promised.

They walked in silence for a minute, and then the man asked, "What's your name?"

"Kale Turner."

"Troy Gardener."

"Nice to know you," Kale said, and jogged across another intersection with Troy at his heels. They both hopped the curb over a sewer grate, and instead of heading straight down the sidewalk again, down 42nd Street, Kale stopped. The other man halted also, looking at him curiously. "My apartment's up there," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the building rising behind him. Troy looked up and admired it respectfully.

"I'm in Chelsea," Troy remarked, and gestured vaguely behind him with one hand. "The commute isn't that bad."

"What do you do?" Kale asked, and lounged against the side of the building, dropping the now burned-out cigarette and grinding the butt into the concrete. He extracted another from his pocket almost immediately.

"I'm a college professor." He paused, tilted his head, and then raked a hand through his shaggy brown hair. There was a massive fall of bangs over his right eye, almost hiding it completely. "Well, I'm going to be. Still a graduate student for the moment. What about yourself?"

"I switch jobs every couple a months or so. Get bored, you know? Right now I wait tables in some expensive club uptown, but before that I worked in the stockroom of Saks Fifth Avenue." He grinned wolfishly at Troy.

"Expensive taste," the other man said off-handedly, but returned the smile.

"It's the best," Kale said, shrugging his shoulders. Troy smoked the last of cigarette, right down to the filters, and then stubbed it out neatly on the wall of the apartment building and tossed it expertly into a sewer grate. Kale wanted to remark about his aim, but let it go; the companionable silence was fine by him. After a few minutes, he said lightly, "So, want to see my apartment? I have half an hour before my shift starts."

Troy shook his head and put his hands in his pockets again. "Better make it quick, then. You know how traffic gets."

--

Kale bumped into him one more time before he had to call it more than a coincidence.

"This is getting scary," he said, planting his hands on the bar. Troy grinned and leaned forward from the opposite side.

"It is," he agreed, then leaned over, as if scrutinizing the bottles lined up on the shelves behind Kale. "Especially considering you were waiting tables last we spoke."

The redhead ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Too creepy," he muttered. Then, gesturing to the rows of bottles behind him, "What'll you have?"

"Your choice," Troy said, shrugging. "I'm not picky."

"Knew that already," the bartender replied with a wolfish grin, and started throwing together a gin and tonic. When it was finished, he slid it across the finely polished wood to the graduate student. Troy picked it up, gestured vaguely to Kale, and then took a sip.

"You're an expert," he said, a smile curving his lips.

"Saved up the money to go to bartending school. Not like it was a lot, but, you know. Responsibility, stuff like that. At least I have the skills for a steady job now. If you can consider this skills – I call it talent." He grinned wildly for effect.

"Oh yes," the other man agreed, and sipped his drink in silence for a few minutes.

Kale wiped down the bar with a damp rag while Troy drank, but then could withhold his curiosity and suspicions no longer. Stopping out of the blue, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he offered, "You think it's funny that we keep running into each other like this? Like, more than a coincidence?"

The graduate student paused with his glass halfway to his mouth, then set it back down on the cocktail napkin on the bar. "I was thinking the same thing when I first walked in here," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb in that trademark way. He retreated into a sort of thoughtful trance, his eyes unfocused, two fingers drumming rhythmically on the wood. "It's strange, isn't it? Scary, like you said before. Running into each other on three separate occasions, completely by accident, and each time we sort of…connect. Is that a good word for it? Yes," he said, nodding, answering himself, "I think it is. Last time, especially. How does it happen?"

"Maybe we knew each other in another life or something," Kale joked, tossing the rag under the bar and leaning his elbows on the rail.

"It's possible," Troy said seriously after a minute, coming back to himself with the sound of the bartender's voice.

"You're kidding."

"No, not really."

The two of them didn't say anything for another minute, and Troy polished off his drink during the silence. Pushing the empty glass back across the bar, the ice inside clinking faintly, he pushed back his stool and stood up. "Classes were murder today. I felt I needed a reward."

"You got me – what better reward than that?" Kale gave one of his patented smiles. Troy laughed agreeably. "I'm off in a couple of hours. You want to go out or something? Had a bad day, you said."

"I did. It sounds like a good idea. Should I go home and come back, or do you want to meet me somewhere?" he asked, buttoning up his coat.

"I'll come and get you. You're in Chelsea, right?" Troy nodded. "Alright. I'll get you around…eight?" Kale hedged, eyeing the influx of customers over the other man's shoulder.

"Don't you need my apartment number, or at least my building?"

Kale grinned again, knowingly this time, and it reached his eyes in a devious sort of way. "Don't worry – I'll find you."


	8. Modesty

**14. Chimes**

**(Modesty)**

**Word Count: 109**

In the gardens at Chang'An, there were wind chimes to add to the serenity.

Gojyo remembered the first time he came with Hakkai to the Temple of the Rising Sun for Goku's math lessons, and how he had escaped out of Sanzo's too-small room to the gardens. He'd been immediately reminded of how Hakkai liked cute things like that, and had gone to get him. Hakkai had appreciated it, but he had had other ideas for what they could do there.

When Gojyo commented about his modesty, Hakkai decided to block out the noise by ringing one of the chimes the entire time.


	9. Feels Like the First Time

**22. Last Meal**

**(Feels Like the First Time)**

**Word Count: 101**

They didn't expect it to be the last time that they would eat together; it just happened that way.

Over tea spiked with alcohol and cards, they had laughed their way through the night. Gojyo hadn't bothered asking what this stranger had done; he knew that it wouldn't make a difference. Who you were then does not define who you are now – he remembered Banri saying that.

You never expect it to be the last time. Laughing and talking, playing cards, thinking it would always be like that.

And then a certain blonde someone comes a-knocking on your door.


	10. Sleep It Off

**17. Revenge**

**(Sleep It Off)**

**Word Count: 1,557**

_Notes: This is my favorite one. _

Gojyo and Hakkai were the only ones conscious when they got back to the inn. It was depressing, the redhead thought, as he dragged Sanzo and Goku through the door, every part of him aching; depressing that they could be whipped so badly after so long of coming out on top. It was depressing because it showed that they still weren't invincible, even after all this time, and he could admit that it annoyed him.

The barkeep was certainly surprised to see the bedraggled and bloody team stagger into his inn at the dead of night, but his shock quickly wore off when his proprietary instincts kicked in. He helped Gojyo get Goku and Sanzo upstairs, threw all the bandages he had at them, and then ran for the doctor.

As soon as the balding man was out the door, Hakkai sank down heavily on the edge of the nearest bed, his right hand pressed over the bleeding wound on his chest. Gojyo eyed the priest and the monkey in the room across the hall and then, after a minute, sat down beside Hakkai.

"Wouldn't mind if…left the healing to you this time…would you?" the youkai asked, trying on a smile. He coughed a few times and wiped the blood away from his mouth with one of his torn sleeves.

"Not at all, pal," Gojyo replied, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Not at all."

--

The barkeep directed the doctor to first look after Gojyo and then move on to the others. Since the redhead was still firmly seated on the bed next to Hakkai (who was only semiconscious when the man arrived, leaning heavily against the half-breed), the brunette was looked after next. Hakkai mildly chided the doctor in almost everything that he did, telling him that he was bandaging wrong, the padding wasn't right, what did he know about what he was doing, and Gojyo couldn't stifle all of his laughter.

"Right," he said after the doctor had left for the room across the hall. "Let the teacher tell the doctor how to do his job."

Like a sleepy child, Hakkai rolled under the blankets and mumbled, "I've seen more injuries in this journey than that man will see in a lifetime. I'm the…authority on these things."

Jeep flew from where he had been perched on the windowsill to next to where Hakkai's hand lay. The dragon stretched out and cheeped before closing his eyes; his owner did the same.

"Gonna check on those two," Gojyo said, a little louder than necessary. He wanted Hakkai to know where he would be, in case he woke up and was alone…or something. Why would Hakkai wonder? He was a big boy, he could take care of himself.

"Have fun," the brunette said. "Get some sleep."

"You too."

--

Gojyo fell asleep in Sanzo's room as the doctor told him his prognosis. When he woke up, sunlight was flooding through the windows, Sanzo was still out, and Goku was gone. The redhead's back hurt from being propped up against the wall for so long, and he had a crick in his neck that started annoying him as soon as he stood up. He fumbled for his cigarettes, tried to light one, and found that his lighter had finally given up on him.

"Took long enough," he muttered, and shoved it back into his pocket.

Going across the hall, he came into the room just in time to see Hakkai working his way back to the bed from the bathroom. The brunette was going steady, holding walls and chairs and furniture to support himself, but Gojyo grumbled a curse and loped into the room anyway.

Grabbing Hakkai's shoulder, he steered him firmly to the bed and sat him down. "What, you were gonna take a bath or somethin'?" he asked.

Hakkai laughed and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be able to manage that just yet. It started out as stretching my legs, but then I realized how much I'd like to use the facilities, and I got a little carried away."

"Overachiever," Gojyo said.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Then, quietly, Hakkai said, "When Sanzo wakes up, he'll want revenge. He won't take this sitting down."

"I know," Gojyo replied, just as softly. The redhead didn't expect Hakkai to keep going, but the brunette did.

"I…can't, either," he said haltingly. "The things that he – that Kami-sama – was planning to do to you…with you…I think that some revenge is required for that, also."

Gojyo surprised Hakkai by abruptly taking his chin in his hand and kissing him. There was a sound when the half-breed pulled away, something fairly loud and that made them both uncomfortable, but Gojyo didn't apologize.

Hakkai didn't want him to.

--

"I wonder where Goku went?" Hakkai asked the ceiling. He watched as Gojyo's cigarette spewed smoke up to the wooden beams; the barkeep had found him a new lighter.

"He's out back," the redhead replied. "I saw him sulking when I went down before."

"You should sleep."

"So should you."

The silence, this time, was not uncomfortable. Gojyo took a drag on his cigarette and put a hand behind his head. He was stretched out next to Hakkai on the bed, although he was pinching his cigarette on the far side of his mouth as a courtesy.

"You think…" Gojyo started, then stopped, shook his head.

"What?" Hakkai asked around a yawn. The half-breed glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Nothing," he said.

"Liar." Still, the issue wasn't pushed.

After a while, Gojyo stood up, cracked his back, stubbed his cigarette out against the wall. "I'm gonna go check on His Holiness." He started to leave the room, and then stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, "Get some sleep."

"Likewise," Hakkai replied loftily, and turned over in bed.

--

"What's the verdict?" Hakkai asked when Gojyo came back into their room, looking far more tired than he had in the past few days. It wasn't inconceivable, however; it was common knowledge that spending an hour with Sanzo could make anyone unhappy.

"He's not going anywhere," Gojyo affirmed, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Pulling out a cigarette, he lit it, but then just stared at it. Hakkai, sitting beside him, leaned his head against Gojyo's shoulder. In turn, the redhead put an arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Neither are we," the brunette said. "Not for another day, anyway. Revenge will have to wait."

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"I was dozing. What about you?"

Gojyo made a seesawing motion with his hand. "On and off," he said. Then, "Why weren't you sleeping?"

Hakkai sighed. "Too much to think about."

"It's a wonder you ever get any sleep at all."

Neither of them had anything to say to that. Gojyo's cigarette smoldered, unused, between his fingers. He dropped it on the floor and stamped it out.

"Do you regret it at all?" Hakkai asked after a long time.

"Yeah," Gojyo answered softly. "I do."

--

Deft fingers peeled back red-stained bandages to expose the newly-made wounds beneath. Hakkai pressed his hand, the hand that his Kanan had always loved, over the round, scabbed-over hole, and concentrated his chi into a soft green glow. The gash closed up completely, healing over pink and soft. He found the other ones covering Gojyo's body and healed them, too, leaving him drained of his chi and feeling faintly hollow.

"Too bad you can't heal yourself," Gojyo said, pulling on a shirt.

"Yeah," Hakkai replied absently. "Too bad."

"You okay?" the redhead asked, setting a hand on his friend's shoulder and forcing him to focus his eyes. Red stared into green – complementary colors.

"Fine," the youkai said.

Sanzo, now awake, shouted for someone to get him a beer.

"You sure?" Gojyo pressed.

"I think I'd know," Hakkai snapped.

"Will one of you lazy asses get me a beer?" Sanzo repeated, louder this time.

"I'll do it," they muttered in unison.

--

Gojyo and Hakkai were the only ones conscious when they got back to the inn. By all rights, at least Hakkai deserved to have blacked out, but with Sanzo driving, it hadn't been an easy feat. The new inn looked remarkably like the last one, and the last one had looked very similar to the one before that, but it was an old same to them. Sanzo had passed out from new wounds and old, blood loss and fluid loss, and every other medical malady known to man just as he parked outside the inn. Goku was tired and hungry and hadn't felt particularly inclined to stay conscious. Gojyo wasn't feeling too bad himself, but Hakkai looked like hell.

They carted their companions inside, got two rooms, and collapsed in the empty one. Sanzo would be pissed that they had stuck him with the monkey, but they were over caring about it. Hakkai didn't ask to see to any wounds, didn't bother even wrapping his own up before sliding under the blanket and curling up, his too-long legs sticking out at odd angles.

"Comfortable?" Gojyo asked, sniggering.

Hakkai made a noncommittal noise and pulled a pillow over his head. "Get some sleep," he mumbled.

Gojyo leaned back on his bed and lit a cigarette. "You too, 'Kai."


	11. Yours and Mine

**3. Omamori; Talisman**

**(Yours and Mine)**

**Word Count: 201**

_Notes: Double drabble._

"Why do you even bother with that? You had glasses before – what's with the monocle?"

It had always bothered Gojyo – he just had to ask. Hakkai chuckled in the way that only Hakkai could and shifted his book onto his lap; with the redhead leaning on him, it was hard to maneuver when pages needed turning.

"Why do you wear your hair long?" The expression on Hakkai's face wasn't exactly smug.

"That's totally different."

"Really? Tell me how." Eyes glinting – he had him.

Gojyo paused, opened his mouth, closed it, and fought for words. None came. He sighed in defeat.

"_Omamori. _We all have them." Hakkai shrugged.

The redhead reclined back against his friend. "What's Sanzo's?"

Hakkai thought for a second. "Sutra."

"Goku?"

That one was harder. He could say the diadem, but that was pretty much forced.

"Sanzo."

Gojyo grinned. "If Sanzo's Goku's, then you're mine."

"What happened to your hair?"

"I like you better."

"I'm touched."

Hakkai gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"So," Gojyo wheedled, "would you give up your monocle for me?"

"And risk giving up the best fashion statement ever to hit Shangri-La?" Hakkai stood up and went into the kitchen. "Not a chance."


	12. The Beat That My Heart Skipped

**20. Zinnia; Thoughts of Friends**

**(The Beat That My Heart Skipped)**

**Word Count: 380**

"What do you think Sanzo an' Goku are doing right now?"

"The usual."

Gojyo turned over and looked at Hakkai. The brunette was uncharacteristically quiet, his sentences curt, expression blank. He reminded Gojyo of Gonou, whom he'd only met for a few minutes over the years, and whose company he'd never enjoyed.

"What's up?" he asked, trying to come off as serious and not joking, like he usually did.

Hakkai rolled over, facing away from his friend. "It's nothing," he said.

"Liar."

"I would prefer not to talk about it, then," Hakkai conceded, polite as always.

Gojyo shrugged. "Fair answer. Just don't take your wallowing out on me," he replied.

Offended, Hakkai turned over again and poked a finger into the redhead's bare chest. "If there is one thing I am not doing, it's _wallowing._" He fixed his friend with a steely stare.

"Could've fooled me," Gojyo replied. Hakkai steamed a minute and then punched a pillow into a comfortable lump before wrapping his arms around it and facing as far away from the other as possible. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, and that gave Gojyo time to think. What day was it? The third day of the fourth month six weeks after they'd returned from India, a little the worse for wear and fairly banged up but intact due to some divine intervention. He tried to remember what else happened on the third day of the fourth month, and then when he couldn't, he put it into his trusty Calendar of the Journey, which was the mental agenda he kept of what had happened on the days that they had been traveling. Around this time, they were –

_Chin Yisou._

A triumphant smirk curved his lips, and he lit a cigarette off of the night stand in celebration.

_Kanan. That's it. That's what's up. _

Gojyo could have done a kind of dance, he was so proud of himself for figuring it out.

"Yo," he said, poking Hakkai's shoulder.

"What?" the brunette hissed, his voice partially muffled by the pillow.

"I think Sanzo an' Goku are fighting right now," he whispered.

Caught off-guard, Hakkai took a few seconds to reply, "I think so, too."


	13. Old As

**1. Ten Years Ago**

**(Old As…)**

**Word Count: 245**

"You remember when we first met?"

Gojyo glanced at Hakkai and grinned. "Ten years to the day, right?"

"Exactly so," the schoolteacher replied, nodding approvingly. He poured tea for the both of them and then sat down opposite the redhead, opening up a book as he did so. Gojyo frowned.

"I feel old," he said, scowling.

Hakkai raised an eyebrow without looking up. "You're twenty-seven," he reminded him.

"Old," Gojyo repeated.

"People like the Bodhisattva would disagree with that statement."

"Good thing I'm not tellin' it to her, then."

The half-breed sulked for a few minutes as Hakkai sipped his tea and ignored him completely. Eventually, he went on, "I bet I wouldn't be able to get a girl if I went out to the bar."

"I bet not, too."

"Hey!" Gojyo shouted, offended.

"Because," Hakkai continued, "if you even tried, I'd beat you senseless." The brunette seemed completely unruffled by saying this, as if inflicting bodily harm on kappas was something he did everyday.

Gojyo glanced up at him, looked back down at the table, and then up at Hakkai again. "I guess I was pretty stupid, ten years ago," he said, smirking.

"How so?" the schoolteacher asked without looking up.

"I let myself get involved with you."

Hakkai closed his book and gave Gojyo a withering look. "I could have told you that, dear," he said dryly, and stirred some more sugar into his tea.


	14. Saving Me

**11. Wait for Me…**

**(Saving Me)**

**Word count: 170**

Gojyo had never assumed that he'd done nothing with his life because he was waiting for someone.

Some_thing, _maybe – something to inspire him, or to make him want to get out of his crappy little house and try to be more than he was. Maybe he was waiting for something, he figured, but never someone. Never Hakkai. Because who in their life waited for a Hakkai? Someone that important, someone that vital to his survival, was not the person you ever expected to make a difference.

He'd been doing something good. Saving this guy's life when he clearly did not want to be saved; taking care of him despite reservations and inadequacies and the fact that Gojyo really couldn't afford to be supporting two people. It had just been a good deed, something to counter all of the things he did wrong in his life.

How did it turn out that the one thing he did on a whim would be the one thing that wound up saving his life?


	15. Between the Lines

**20. Diary**

**(Between the Lines)**

**Word count: 1,055**

It was common knowledge that Hakkai kept a journal while they traveled. As a creative person, it was easier for him to express himself in writing than speaking, and who was he going to talk to about anything, anyway? None of them would have probably been patient enough to sit down with him and listen to him, especially since he'd be talking about them. Also, they all knew what had happened, and they didn't need a recap. Eloquently put by Gojyo, he was "shit out of luck."

When they came back, Gojyo and Hakkai went back to the little house on the edge of the little town. They unpacked, put away their things, and then went out and bought several bottles of wine and a few cases of beer. They got completely drunk for several days and several nights, did a few things that made them stutter and ignore later, and then Hakkai, hung-over and terribly sober, started to clean. Gojyo sat back with one of the bottles and watched him for a few hours; then he grabbed the money they had leftover and went to the bar to gamble.

He came back the next morning to find Hakkai had fallen asleep half-on and half-off the bed, still fully dressed, and in the process of dusting the bedroom. Drawers were open, doors were unattached, and all of the light fixtures had been taken down. It was a mess, but it was the good kind of mess -- the kind of mess that comes with promise for something better.

Gojyo shut a few of the drawers and closed the closet doors. He threw the damp rag that had been Hakkai's duster in the kitchen sink, and then he pulled off his shirt, intending to go bed. One of the open drawers caught his eye on the way, though, and he noticed a thick, leather-bound book inside that he did not recognize.

Reaching down, he pulled it out, flipped it open, and squinted at the small, cramped handwriting covering the yellow pages. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the tiny print. He sat down on the floor, back against the bed, next to Hakkai's legs. Then he realized that the handwriting was familiar, because it was Hakkai's. The journal that they had all known about but cared less for must've been what he was holding.

_Gojyo left camp again tonight, presumably heading into town. I suppose even being constantly surrounded by four men can't temper his hormones. _

_Goku temporarily lost the credit card today. Sanzo hit him several times and I tried to make peace and look for it, although I was hard pressed not to laugh. The two of them together are sometimes too much to handle. _

_I think it's going to rain. _

That was it? That was the big diary? It didn't seem like anything overly interesting; just a dry account of things he remembered and had seen hundreds of times before and after. He flipped a page.

_Gojyo and I kissed, but I don't think that it meant anything. Logically, he was probably just drunk or exhausted from the road and the fight with Kami-sama and needed some form of release. Really, I can't read into everything, especially when it concerns him. _

_Sanzo is still unconscious. It's becoming a problem. Goku is angry and I don't blame him, although it's times like these when I wish he would grow up just a little bit. Not anymore than that, though, because we need someone like him with us -- someone not completely jaded by reality and the seriousness of life; someone who can still laugh and joke freely. What oh what would we do without Goku? _

_I think it's going to rain. _

_We're almost there. It's unbelievable -- completely unbelievable. Instead of chasing the sunset, we've finally caught up to it. Only a little bit further from here. Will we make it? What a question -- we've come this far already; I suppose that even if we die, our corpses will carry on until we reach Houtou Castle. _

_Sanzo is quieter than usual. He smokes entire packs through in the span of hours, and he buys more and more each time we take a stop. Goku complains, but I think it's only to retain a semblance of normalcy. Even he feels our impending troubles...the end of everything, the light at the end of the tunnel. I don't like to think about Gojyo. He puts up a strong front, but I think that he's nervous. Aren't we all, though? _

_I think it's going to rain. _

There were no more entries after that. Gojyo flipped back to the beginning, but there was nothing of interest; a sparse recounting of Chin Yisou, the fight in the desert, little moments in time between one fight and the next. Hakkai's style of writing was to include vague details and a few of his personal opinions, and then close it with the sentiment that it was most likely going to rain, even when Gojyo clearly remembered the events happening on bright, sunny days or clear, cool nights. He couldn't figure it out.

All of the entries were short, probably written in a little window of time before Hakkai went to sleep or immediately after he woke up. He mentioned all three of them in each, and yet he talked about Goku the most. Gojyo put the diary away in a drawer, feeling slightly offended -- wasn't he more important than that monkey? Hell, he was sleeping with Hakkai; why didn't he get that kind of recognition?

He heaved Hakkai completely up onto the bed and laid down next to him. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but found that he was unable. Slowly, it dawned on him that maybe Hakkai talked about Goku most because that was how he wanted to be -- that uninhibited, that carefree, that vibrant. Maybe he wrote things in short scenes because that was what stuck out to him most, and that was what he wanted to remember above everything else. Maybe he always wrote that it was going to rain because he was always expecting it to, no matter the circumstances.

Maybe Gojyo was going to finally start understanding Hakkai after all.


	16. King of the Road

**4. Lost**

**(King of the Road) **

**Word count: 416**

_Notes: This earns the M rating more than the other chapters. Nothing graphic, but a few not-quite-suitable words/references, just for your information. _

For all intents and purposes, Gojyo cheated on Hakkai.

He went out all hours of the night. He didn't push away the girls hanging over him like puppets with their strings pulled, and he spent more time with the local barflies than he did with his quasi-spouse. Sometimes, if he was drunk enough and had won enough hands to make him feel less grounded than usual, he would let one of the girls kiss him or take him upstairs for a few minutes (just enough time for something quick and nothing complicated).

When he came home, he fell into bed and didn't wake up until Hakkai was already gone. There would be food on the counter and maybe a note, but Gojyo didn't really need a note anymore; he got Hakkai's message loud and clear. Although they couldn't compare professions, they did have to accept their own along with each other's.

One of the other teachers spoke to Hakkai one day during their lunch break.

"You live with someone?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "You couldn't tell if you didn't know, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I just don't see him all that often."

"That's not a boyfriend," she chided.

"That's not quite right either," he remarked quietly. She gave him a questioning look, and he explained, "There's no one else in the world better suited for the two of us than each other. By default he's my...boyfriend." Hakkai smiled slightly at the word.

She didn't agree, but she didn't have to -- not for Hakkai. He knew that through all of the late hours, all of the drunken blowjobs, all of the times Gojyo came home ready to throw up at three in the morning, there would always be the man he fell in love with somewhere inside of him. It was hard to remember occasionally, but on the weekends when there was no school and no card games and Hakkai cooked while the other drank and smoked and made lewd comments, it was obvious. It was even more obvious when Gojyo fucked him up against the back door or on the kitchen table or in the shower, because you can tell it's true passion when your lover is willing to risk a backache to make you happy.

For all intents and purposes, the redhead cheated on the brunette, but it didn't matter; no matter how many times Gojyo got lost, he would inevitably find his way back to Hakkai in the end.


	17. Eccentricities

**26. Yellow Tulip; Hopeless Love**

**(Eccentricities) **

**Word count: 219**

In a lot of ways, Hakkai was completely hopeless.

He cleaned excessively. He cooked when he was bored, or when he was tired but didn't feel like sleeping, or when they actually needed something to eat. He read endlessly. He loved grocery shopping and did it whenever he got the chance. He also happened to be a sex fiend, but that was one of Hakkai's helpless traits that Gojyo didn't really mind.

Hakkai had his quirks, that was true. Sometimes they got on Gojyo's nerves (honestly, how much stir-fry could one eat in a week?), but mostly he chalked them up to being Hakkai and therefore never, ever subject to change. There was no stopping it, no helping it, and no getting over it. There was only getting used to it.

Also, there was looking closer. Gojyo had learned to be responsive to others during the would-be endless Journey West, and living with Hakkai in their crappy little house on the edge of that crappy little town, all by themselves, made him acutely aware that there was one eccentricity that Hakkai was unwilling to share with Gojyo but indulged in nonetheless. The redhead couldn't say anything about that particular one, though.

Because, really, Gojyo was hoplessly in love with him, too.


	18. Change My Ways

**19. Please Forget About Me**

**(Change My Ways)**

**Word count: 781**

"I wish there was a power -- some kind of force -- that would allow someone to take all of the memories in someone else's head and just...erase them."

Hakkai's hand is over his eyes. Gojyo rolls his eyes and lights another cigarette. They are lying on the lawn in the back of the little house on the edge of the little town, and Hakkai is feeling melodramatic. The night sky hangs low with the promise of rain, strands of stars crisscrossing like seams on a jacket, most partially hidden behind heavy thickets of clouds.

If Hakkai is feeling melodramatic, Gojyo is feeling poetic -- never a good sign.

"Why's that?" he asks instead, willing to give Hakkai the benefit of the doubt. He knows that this will be in vain.

"I bet Goku feels that way, too," Hakkai answers instead, and Gojyo wishes he would take that damn hand away, because he wants to see if the brunette's eyes are open or closed. For some reason, that seems very important right now.

He wants to go and get the bottle of wine in the kitchen they opened with dinner, but that would mean getting up, and that would mean taking his head off of where it is pillowed on Hakkai's stomach. He's too comfortable to do that, and he knows he's keeping the other warm. He decides chain smoking is almost a good alternative to getting smashed, but not really, since nicotine doesn't blur his mind the way alcohol does.

"Kid can't help who he is, or what he does when he doesn't have that headband on." Gojyo holds the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible before coughing and releasing it in a cloud. "'Sides, I don't think he's the type to regret things."

"I am," Hakkai whispers.

It's melodrama to Gojyo, but complete seriousness to Hakkai.

"What exactly've you done, then? An' don't tell me plugging all those centipede guys how many fucking years back already, 'cause that one's gotten old by now."

His red hair is in a curtain over Hakkai's scar, which burns through the thin shirt he wears.

"The way you thought of me. The way I presented myself. For so many years, the way I behaved..."

Gojyo doesn't really know what Hakkai's talking about. In order to shut him up, he rolls onto his side, leans up a little, and kisses him. His hand goes around to the back of Hakkai's neck to hold him steady.

Hakkai tastes like wine and ice, and he's stiff, uncompromising. He doesn't want to do anything sensual now, because he's trying to unburden his tiny heart yet once more. Gojyo thinks he's taken on enough of Hakkai's burdens in his life that the other can just shut and roll over once in a while.

"I wish you could forget about me," Hakkai says into his mouth when Gojyo pulls away a fraction of an inch from the kiss that the brunette had not been returning. "I wish you had left me there."

"You've just had too much to drink," Gojyo says to him, his warm breath sliding across Hakkai's cold mouth. "Alcohol makes you maudlin."

"I don't get drunk," Hakkai reminds him uselessly.

"Did I say drunk?" Gojyo snaps. "I said maudlin. 'S your equivalent of drunk. You turn all fuckin' serious on me, start bitchin' and moanin' how you're such a sinner and how you regret shit, but you know what? I don't waste my time regretting shit. Neither does Sanzo or Goku. I think I'll finally suggest takin' a page outta their books, because you keep trying to fall apart, Hakkai, 'cept you're so together it hurts. You know? There's nothin' wrong with you. You want there to be. You drag up stuff from the past 'cause you're not happy with the man you are, for some reason. Why is that, I wonder?"

Hakkai smiles unsteadily. "Gojyo the philosopher."

"No," Gojyo corrects, "this is me drunk. This is you drunk. This is me fed up of you cryin' about stuff long past. You're the only man you can be, and, really, you're the only man I want you to be."

Hakkai looks at him like he's hit him. Maybe something has hit him.

Gojyo rises to his feet, stretches, and drops his cigarette in the grass. "Now that I'm done bein' supportive, will you come to bed an' just --"

"Roll over?" Hakkai smirks and stands as well. His mood's much improved.

Gojyo thinks, with an inward sadistic grin, that he's finally gotten through the bastard -- or at least this time, anyway.


End file.
